


Into the Eye of the Storm

by Narcissisticpeacock



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Chloe has a moment of weakness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissisticpeacock/pseuds/Narcissisticpeacock
Summary: There's no good reason for Chloe to be awake this late.





	Into the Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> hey whats up. it's been forever since i posted anything on my main account (have fun guessing what my side account is-- it's barely got anything on it but it's all Chlodine).  
> anyway lots of crap has happened and i kinda wanna die but instead i'm trying to write instead  
> so have a cope fic

Chloe wakes up.

The first thing she does is cough, shoulders shaking, as she tries to pull in air. She keeps them quiet. She knows her partner will wake at the slightest noise. So she muffles her coughs.

Once she can breathe again, she takes in air. Deep and slow. In through her nose, out through her mouth.

The itch in her throat dies, but she can still feel an itch in her bones, under her skin, in her head. She needs to move.

Her feet touch soft to the carpet by the bed. She leaves her slippers to the side. Barefoot, she heads for the living room. The wood floor stays silent, thankfully. She steps past the board that's been known to creak.

She finds her way to the window and looks out. The street is empty. The townhouses and apartment building are all dark. Their tenants lay asleep, like Chloe should be. None are aware of her, of the problems in her life or the storm raging in her head. But then, she doesn't know any of their plights either.

She opens the window, just a crack, and lets cold air in. She breathes in deep. It's only a minor solace.

Chloe finds her way to the couch. It's decadent-- she'd paid entirely too much for a comfortable couch. But now she sits at the end, curled on herself like a kicked dog. She drags a hand through her hair, nails to her scalp. She brings the hand down, pinches at the back of her neck before she rubs her face.

Why does she have episodes like this? It's been so long, but here she is-- alone,  _ afraid _ , on the couch in her living room.

But… afraid of what?

She knows it's stupid to ask. She knows the answer. Afraid of her thoughts. Of herself.

Her thoughts churn, dredged from the deepest parts of her mind, all shouting questions. What if her father was alive? What if he could see her now? Would he hate what she's become? Would he despise the company she chooses for herself? Would he treat her as her mother has? Cut off contact? All because she's kissed women, dated whoever she felt attracted to?

The worst parts of her scream “yes! he'd hate this, hate us, hate hate hate!”

She's used to this. She's grown up surrounded by hate. But she can, usually, silence the worst voices.

It's been so many years since she lived with her mother. Even longer since she had last seen her father alive.

She can remember it… barely ten years old, being forced into a car, yelling at her father in every language he had taught her. And she can remember, at seventeen, the screaming match with her mother. She can remember walking out with a bag and all the money she'd saved, slamming the door, and getting into her then-girlfriend's car.

She hates thinking sometimes. What use is it when it just makes her feel worse and worse?

A line pops into her head from some distant memory.

_ All the wolves, all the lies, the false hopes, the good-bye's, the reverses. All the wondering-- _

She loses it there. It's from some musical or other, but she doesn't remember the name. A song about loss. She realizes, to her own annoyance, she can't remember the name of the boyfriend she'd seen it for. It'd been years ago. Nearly decades. Her early twenties, maybe.

Chloe hates realizing she's forgotten. It makes her feel like others seem to want her to feel-- ashamed. She's promiscuous. During the day, she doesn't care who knows. She likes sex. She likes people. But right now, shame is burning its way through her, joining her what-if’s and her would-be’s.

She hates that.

Musicals and ex's aside, Chloe doesn't know why she feels like this. It's so pointless to ponder over it-- what if her dad had stayed around, what if she'd had the right sort of parent to bring her up in place of the monster she got… it didn't happen. She can't change that.

And she can't change who she is. Can she?

Sometimes… she hates who she is.

It's rare, and she's trained herself out of it, for the most part. But still, she sometimes has a night where she wakes with her heart in her throat and she feels like she's losing control. Random panic attacks she can't find any rhyme or reason to. It's been months since she had one, but here she is, cowering on the couch, unable to hide from her own mind.

The noise in her head is incredibly loud. It’s overstimulating to the point of madness. She wants it to stop, she needs some semblance of sanity, some bastion of peace. But she’s here in her living room, breathing heavy, eyes burning. Her heart pounds away as if she’s getting shot at but the last bullet she dodged was weeks ago. She feels like she’s going to burst.

The floor creaks.

She looks up.

A very tired Nadine is standing at the end of the hallway. Her eyes are barely open and her hair is braided back. She heads towards Chloe after a moment.

Chloe tries to speak, to find an excuse to why she's out here. She manages something, but little more than whispering Nadine's name and an accompanied  _ “I just…” _ before she trails off to nothing. How can she explain away how she is right now? How does she make an excuse for it?

Nadine reaches her but doesn't speak. Instead, she makes a space on the couch and pulls Chloe into her arms. She lays back, pulling her partner with her until she's able to get them laying properly across the couch. She grabs for the blanket tossed over the back and pulls it over them. Once she's done that, she sends one hand through Chloe's hair and plays with it, gentle, as the other hand finds the remote and puts on something quiet.

Nadine, Chloe finds, often knows exactly what she needs. Talking about it won't help, not right now. But a distraction will.

Her thoughts go quiet. Nadine is there, keeping so much of it away. Her thoughts might be a storm, but she’s been pulled into the calm eye of it.

So Chloe snuggles in against her partner. Her cheek is pressed against the warm skin near Nadine's collarbone. She's half curled but comfortable in her place. She feels Nadine press a kiss to her forehead. Warmth blossoms in her chest and drowns out the questions for a moment and kills the itch.

Chloe doesn't know what show is on, but she doesn't care. She pays attention only for the benefit of distraction. One of Nadine's hands rests heavy and warm on her back, the other is still idly playing with Chloe's hair.

Thankfully, Chloe finds herself drifting off. She's got the sort of ache she always gets when her panic attack passes, but it's manageable. Here, in the arms of her partner, the woman she loves--

It wakes her up a bit, realizing what she's just thought.

It's not a thought she'll ever take back. Because it's rather obvious to her now, that she loves Nadine.

She presses the softest kiss she can manage to the scar on Nadine's collarbone. She barely has to move to do it.

In the morning, she might have to have a talk. Labels might have to change between them-- partner may not be enough. And even though their talk may involve why Chloe had woken earlier… Chloe isn't scared. Nadine has her.

Chloe falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i tried to get the no real thought pattern thing down for Chloe-- that's how my panic attacks tend to go.  
> find me on tumblr as starburner-steam!  
> if y'all really want, i'll write up another chapter to this since i've got some ideas. lmk.


End file.
